


Livin' in Paradise

by elysiumwaits



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Adult Billy Hargrove, Adult Steve Harrington, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Bondage, Christmas, Christmas kink, Christmas-Themed Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, Dom Billy Hargrove, Dom/sub, Humor, Inappropriate Uses of Christmas Ribbon, Inappropriate Uses of Santa Hats, M/M, Musician Billy Hargrove, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Steve Harrington Has a Big Dick, Sub Steve Harrington, Topping from the Bottom, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, at what point do I just give up and tag this with, listen if you're gonna write christmas smut you gotta just go for broke so here we are, no beta we die like santa in that tim allen movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/pseuds/elysiumwaits
Summary: Billy's here to make sure that Steve gets everything he wants for Christmas.OrThe Shameless Harringrove Christmas PWP.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 186





	Livin' in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> You know how you write something, and you just have to keep adding tags? This is that fic. Started out as blowjob with Billy in a Santa hat and just devolved from there. I seriously thought about tagging this with "Santa Kink" for shits and giggles, but I think "Christmas Kink" covers it better.
> 
> This is for my favorite Harringrove dumpster fires from your vodka aunt. You know who you are. Love ya! 
> 
> Title from "Merry Christmas Baby." I recommend the Bruce Springsteen version.

It's Christmas Eve, and Billy's supposed to be in Canada. 

He's not. He's in Hawkins, Indiana, which is weird, because Billy usually tries very hard to avoid Hawkins these days. He would much rather fly Max and the kids and the Byers and Hop out to California instead of ever setting foot back in Hawkins. Billy goes back for Christmas and Christmas only, suffers through Steve's parents trying to suck up to him and through Hawkins in general, but this year, he's supposed to be in Canada. This year, Billy had this holiday benefit concert on the night of the 23rd, and afterparties and coverage and media bullshit afterwards. So he's _supposed_ to be in Toronto until the 27th. He's _supposed_ to have gone to the afterparty instead of catching a red-eye to Indianapolis and renting a car to get to Hawkins. 

Toronto had been the plan, hand to god, and Billy was okay with it, even if Steve had already promised to go see everyone and meet the brand new baby Byers. Except then he FaceTimes Steve that morning and he can _tell_ , okay, that going back to that big empty house and being there alone is already getting to him, can see it in the tense lines of his face and the way he chews his lip. Steve doesn't outright say it, but Billy can tell that just being there is bringing up memories of holidays alone in the past, because _of course_ his parents had something better to do than spend Christmas with their only son once they learned that his delinquent-turned-rich-rockstar boyfriend wouldn't be coming. That's not even mentioning all that Upside-Down bullshit that went down and still makes the both of them shake awake sometimes, reaching for each other, and the dreams are _always_ worse when they're in Hawkins. And then Billy hears that Steve _isn't_ going to stay with Nancy and Jonathan and the new baby Byers because he feels like he's intruding, that Steve's going to wake up alone on Christmas morning? Well, fuck _that_.

So here he is, _not_ in Canada, and it's easily worth every bit of trouble the band manager gave him about leaving early. 

" _Fuck_ ," Steve hisses out, hips jerking when Billy bites at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Billy's hands curl around his hips to keep them pressed to the bed, takes a minute to really admire the sight of Steve like this - on his back with his hands tied to the headboard, flushed and watching Billy with his lips parted and his eyes wide. He's half-dressed since Billy had practically ambushed him in the foyer, but the Star Wars Christmas sweater he'd bought just for the party at the Byers' is shoved up to give Billy access to his stomach and the treasure trail. And, of course, Steve is also wearing the velvet Christmas ribbon that Billy's carefully tied into a neat little bow at the base of his hard cock - not enough to work as a cock ring, loose enough Billy could slide it off with no problem. Decorative, wrapped up like the perfect present just for Billy.

"You been good this year, Stevie?" Billy says, makes sure the words ghost across Steve's cock in just the right way, revels in the shiver that echoes through Steve as a result. "Think you're on the nice list?"

Steve laughs a little, breathless. "I don't care if you're wearing the hat, I'm not calling you Santa."

He really is wearing the hat. He'd meant it to be something silly, a little way to really drive home the whole 'surprise Christmas present' thing. The minute he'd laid eyes on Steve, though, he'd kind of forgotten about the peppermint schnapps he'd bought and the gift he'd put underneath the tasteful Christmas tree in the living room. So now Billy's wearing a Santa hat and giving Steve a blowjob, which is a little more holiday spirit than he intended here.

It's honestly not the weirdest thing he's done in the name of getting off, though. Besides, he likes that happy, sex-drunk grin on Steve's face. "If I'm Santa, you're my ho ho ho," he says with a wink.

"Oh my god, you're terrible," Steve groans, at first at how bad Billy's joke is and then at the way that Billy licks a sudden stripe up his cock, little noises falling out of his mouth when Billy tongues at the head. If his hands were untied, he'd be running his fingers through Billy's hair, trying to urge him to move a little faster and probably knocking the hat off. As it is, Billy can take his sweet time, kiss and lick to his heart's content, all while Steve makes those sweet sounds and curses at him for it. "You're going to get coal in your stocking."

Billy pulls off, moves his hand from Steve's hip to give his dick a nice, firm pump, slow and steady in that rhythm designed to drive Steve more than a little crazy. "Nah, I got my stocking stuffer right here."

"That was bad," Steve breathes out through a moan as Billy sucks him down again, gets Steve's dick into his throat and swallows while holding Steve's hips again so he can't buck. Billy's a little impressed when Steve still manages to speak, even if his voice breaks a little. "You should feel bad, because that was _so bad_."

Billy comes back up slow, drags it out and gives the head of Steve's dick a little attention, sucking hard and tonguing at that spot _just right_ , until Steve is outright whining with it, hips straining against Billy's hold. It's only when he feels that particular tense to Steve's thighs, that little shift to Steve's breath, that he pulls completely off, sits back on his knees and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Steve's _really_ flushed now, and Billy's kind of wishing he'd gotten him out of the sweater so he can see that pretty red color as it travels down Steve's neck and chest. He's panting, eyes half-lidded but gaze fixed on Billy. "Baby, please," Steve says, little pleading lilt to his voice that makes Billy want to deny him even more, just to hear him really beg. 

But it's Christmas Eve, so he really shouldn't be _too_ mean. "I'm just getting you nice and hard so I can ride you, Stevie."

Steve lets out a strangled sound, hips jerking now that Billy's not holding them anymore. Billy grins, drags his nails lightly down Steve's thighs, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his open mouth. "I'm ready, come on, _Billy_." It's that begging voice again, the one that reminds Billy that he might be a little bit of a sadist because he loves it so much.

"You sure?" Billy murmurs, nips at Steve's lower lip. He's hovering, careful not to press too close and give Steve too much friction, one hand braced on the bed next to Steve's shoulder and the other stroking down Steve's side over that ridiculous sweater. "You been good this year, baby? You ready for a present?" 

"Yeah, fuck." Steve turns his head, tries to chase Billy's mouth for a kiss. And it should be ridiculous because Billy's wearing a fucking _Santa hat_ , and Steve's got a fucking _Christmas ribbon_ tied around his cock, but Steve sounds so good when he says, " _Please_ , Billy, I've been good."

It's Christmas Eve. Billy shouldn't want to be _too mean_ , but he just can't resist the chance to wind Steve up even more, can't fight the urge to push in that way he knows Steve loves. "I don't know, I think you're on the naughty list. Maybe you don't get a present."

"Billy-"

"Maybe," Billy goes on, drops his weight just enough that Steve can find the hint of friction against his stomach while he talks. It's not enough, he knows it's not enough. "Maybe I should just get myself off, huh? Tie your cock up a little tighter with that ribbon so I can ride it all I want, and leave you like this when I'm done."

"No, _please._ " And this is exactly where Billy wants Steve, outright begging and a little desperate. Needy. "Please, I'm _good_ , I'll be good." 

Billy smiles just before he finally gives Steve the kiss he's been wanting, licks his way into Steve's mouth as slick and dirty as ever. He won't really deny Steve tonight, won't go any tighter with the ribbon because it's not really a cock ring, would never leave Steve when he's bound and wanting and vulnerable. But, god, does he love to hear Steve beg for it like he really thinks Billy would. 

When Steve is breathless and lax, even though his cock is still hard under Billy's bare stomach, Billy breaks the kiss off. "Yeah, baby, I think you can be good for me." Steve breathes out a little sigh, like relief, and Billy kisses at his jaw again. "I was nice, though, I got you ready before I got me ready. Too bad your hands are tied, huh?"

"Fucking -" Steve swears, drops his head back against the pillow when Billy huffs out a laugh and pulls away completely.

The lube is already on the bed, because Billy may not be a Boy Scout but he's pretty fuckin' prepared all the same. He pops the cap and coats his own fingers, thinks about taking his time just to make Steve squirm. Truth be told, though, Billy missed Steve just as much as Steve missed him, and it's fucking Christmas Eve, and Billy's supposed to be in Toronto. He's here instead, though, because he thought they could do this whole holiday-apart thing, and it turns out they couldn't. Billy couldn't.

So he doesn't drag it out, just watches Steve watch him with that look on his face, like he'd be dragging Billy onto his lap right now if his hands were free. Billy's been pleasantly aroused this whole time, having too much fun working Steve over to pay much attention to his own dick, but he's suddenly hit with a wave of want that goes straight through him like a jolt. He wants to be on Steve _now_ , wants to feel that perfect pressure of Steve's cock as he fucks himself onto it.

He uses his clean hand to very carefully undo the ribbon, listens to Steve hiss through his teeth at the feeling of Billy's hand brushing so gently against him. Then, holding Steve's gaze, Billy squeezes more lube in his hand and very, very slowly slicks his way up Steve's cock and back down again.

"Not yet," Billy says, voice low. "Don't you come yet, Steve, don't you fucking _dare_." 

And it should be silly, should be completely ridiculous. Hell, they were joking about it not too long ago, and Steve's wearing a fucking ugly Christmas sweater to go with Billy's dumb Santa hat, for fuck's sake. But Steve bites his lip and gives a short nod, inhales to let out a shuddering breath, and the atmosphere has gone from funny to that elastic-band tension, where Billy can't wait for it to just _snap_. He moves, straddles Steve's hips and reaches back to get his hand around Steve's cock.

He pushes. He always pushes, and Steve loves that about him. "Look at me," Billy says. Steve's eyes snap open to find Billy's, and his cheeks are flushed as pretty as his cock was, almost as red as the ribbon that's now laying somewhere on the covers of the bed. "Watch me, Stevie."

Steve's tongue darts out, swipes across his lips as he watches, doesn't dare look away because Billy didn't tell him he could. He moans when Billy sinks down, and Billy is the one to break the eye contact first, drops his head down with moan of his own. It takes a minute to work Steve in, to really get _seated_ , it always does. 

"You're so fucking big," Billy says, lifts his head and rolls it back, feels the weight of the hat shift because of the stupid puff-ball at the end and just. Doesn't care. "Christ, baby, I love how your _fat fucking cock_ fills me up just right."

And like, Steve's told him before that Billy's dirty talk belongs in a pay-per-view porno, that Billy goes straight through sexy and into vulgar. The reason Billy keeps it up, though, is the way that he feels Steve's hips jerk up when he says that shit, the little breathy moans that fall right out of Steve's mouth like he can't stop them. Steve _loves it_ , loves that Billy's vulgar and a little mean, loves that Billy's got him like this at his parents' house, loves that Billy's gonna ride him while he's wearing a festive fucking sweater and tied to the bed. Probably even loves the Santa hat, just because it's on Billy's head. 

For Billy's part, he'd give up all the concerts in Toronto and world tours if that's what Steve wanted, if it meant that he got to have this beautiful boy every day for the rest of his life.

"Billy. _Baby._ " Steve sounds choked, like he's having to force the words out, voice deep and husky with arousal. He doesn't say "please" but it sounds like begging to Billy, and it's enough to have Billy moving, dragging up slow, slow, and dropping down again.

He rolls his hips, finds the rhythm he likes, the one that makes the fireworks go off like short-circuiting wires in his own brain. He's not kidding, not trying to blow up Steve's ego at all when he says that he loves how big Steve's cock is. Not lying when he talks about how it's perfect for him. "Like you were made for me, Stevie, like this cock was made just for me," Billy sighs out. He can feel Steve tremble with the effort it takes to keep from moving. "You're being so fucking good for me, just laying there to take what I give you. You want to fuck me?"

"God, please, Billy, you know I do." Steve's whining, needy, wants to move so fucking bad. He won't until Billy tells him that he can, though, even though Billy can see the way that his hands are twisting in the soft red rope. It's the rope that Billy bought at an all-night adult store on his way out of Indianapolis, because he couldn't bear to stay in Toronto when Steve was in Indiana, because he had a whole flight to think about what he wanted to do to Steve when he got to Hawkins. 

Billy reaches forward, wraps his fingers around Steve's wrist just below the rope. It's not often he's aware of that inch or so Steve has on him. "I'm gonna untie you," he says, runs his fingertips along where the rope meets soft skin. "And you're gonna fuck me, just like this. You're gonna make _me_ come before you even _think_ about coming. Got it?" Steve's nodding before he's even finished, big brown eyes looking up at Billy eagerly. 

Billy tugs the knot free, nice and easy because he may not be a Boy Scout but he knows his way around rope. Immediately, Steve's hands find his hips and dig in, fingers rough on Billy's skin just the way Billy likes as he plants his feet and thrusts up. The gasp that leaves Billy's mouth has it falling open, bleeding into a moan as Steve sets the rhythm now. And riding Steve is good, making Steve beg is better, but this is _best_ \- Steve's hands on Billy, fucking up into him deep and steady like he means it, it can never get any better than this, in this moment. 

"Fuck, just like that," Billy moans, words tripping off his tongue unbidden now, unchecked. "Just like that, Stevie, baby, you know _just_ how I like it." He looks down, makes himself open his eyes like Steve isn't hitting his prostate every single time, like Billy's not just hanging on for dear life now. 

Steve is looking back, hair wild and eyes dark with pupils blown wide in arousal, looking at Billy like Billy's some incredible, life-changing thing. Like he's hanging onto his own orgasm by the thinnest of threads, like he's one step from losing it. 

"You're so good, baby, so good to me, just like-" Billy gets a hand on his own cock, can't help himself when Steve is looking like debauchery personified. " _Fuck,_ Steve."

"Please," Steve manages to say, breathless and so gorgeous, everything Billy could ever want. "Billy, I need you to-"

"Yeah, keep... fuck, _fuck_ , Steve!" Billy comes, body jerking with it, head dropping back and hand on his dick. 

Steve fucks him through it, hands firm and fingers digging bruises into his hips, gasping out pleas and praises that Billy barely hears and loves anyway. He knows better than to stop completely, but he does slow down. Billy's made it clear that he loves that line of overstimulation, of feeling so good that it fucking hurts, and the shocky waves of orgasm are still sparking up and down Billy's spine. 

"So good," Billy finally murmurs, drops his hands to brace himself on Steve's arms. "So fucking good for me, Stevie, you feel so good. Come on, baby, take what you need."

The groan that bursts out of Steve is explosive, and then he's _fucking_ Billy, fast and hard like Billy didn't just come so hard his head spun with it. Billy can't keep his own noises back, the pleasure-pain line is too much in all the best ways, and if he thought he was just hanging on before, it was nothing compared to now. He knows his fingers are probably bruising where he's clutching Steve's forearms, but the way Steve is gasping out his name, the way that Steve is desperately chasing his own orgasm is almost enough to send Billy careening into a second peak much too soon, like it's even possible.

"Billy, please, can I come, _please_ , I need," Steve says in a rush, strung together like he can't get enough breath. 

It's heady to Billy in a way that nothing else ever is. "Yeah, Stevie, come for me."

Another thrust accompanied by a relieved, grateful sound, and then one more, and Billy's name tears itself from Steve's chest as Steve grinds deep, and then stills. After a moment, his hands loosen on Billy's hips, and Billy's hands loosen on Steve's arms. Steve goes lax, pets his fingers down Billy's side and thighs, catching his breath. Another moment, and Billy leans to kiss Steve lazily, gently, a leisurely greeting instead of a frantic ambush in the foyer.

"Holy fuck," Steve says when Billy pulls back and rolls off of him. "You're supposed to be in _Canada_."

Billy yawns, grabs the shirt he'd been wearing from the floor to clean himself off, and then throws it into Steve's lap. "Canada didn't have you. Concerts are boring when you're not watching backstage."

The shirt hits the floor again, and Steve sits up as Billy flops back onto the bed. "Liar. You love performing," he says. He looks at Billy, who's in the process of curling around Steve's naked legs. "Seriously. You had all that media shit to do, what are you doing here?"

"You were sad, and I missed you." Most of it is said to the blankets. The lack of sleep is starting to catch up to Billy now that he's not dead-set on fucking Steve six ways to Sunday. "Lay down, Santa doesn't come if you're awake."

Steve snorts. "I'm pretty sure Santa already came." He tugs on the hat that is, somehow, still on Billy's head. 

Billy lets him tug it off and throw it to the floor, yawns again and thinks that they should probably get up and shower. He hears movement, though, feels the bed shift.

"Oh, _ew_ , Billy!" Steve suddenly shoves at Billy's side, and when Billy opens the eye he didn't realize he'd closed, he sees that Steve is now fully naked and holding his Star Wars sweater. "I'm going to have to get this dry-cleaned. I'm going to have to look them in the eye at the dry-cleaners and get this cleaned, you dick."

A laugh bubbles out of Billy, and he reaches to tug the sweater out of Steve's hand, tosses it behind him and doesn't care where it lands. "Santa came all over your Christmas sweater, huh?"

"You're disgusting," Steve grumps, but lays down when Billy pulls at him. He settles his head on Billy's chest, gives that little content sigh that Billy loves, and presses close. They should _really_ shower, but Billy just wants to sleep for at least fourteen hours. "Hey, babe. Merry Christmas."

Billy smiles, slow and lazy and sex-drunk. "Merry Christmas, Stevie."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, Santa.


End file.
